


Dolled Up To Fight

by Capucine



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Battle Dolls, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Harm to Children, Minor Original Character(s), Team as Family, Weirdness, of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this world, AI is somewhat commonplace. It's used in various places, but one of the less practical is in making Battle Dolls. These rather human looking and acting machines fight each other as people place bets--creating and designing them is as much the game for the wealthy as having them fight each other.</p>
<p>Bruce ends up in this world, and discovers more than he would have ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robin Versus Gypsy Curse (and Streamline)

**Author's Note:**

> Weird sci fi prompt I found and decided to try out. Enjoy?

The deal with Battle Dolls—they were probably more human than people gave them credit for.

Bruce should know. The first he’d gotten was supposedly programmed to be bright and cheery, but he always caught him pulling one over on him—at first attempts that usually didn’t work, but then the Doll caught on to him, and figured out ways to get under his radar.

He called him Richard.

Richard decided he preferred Dick.

And Bruce felt like he had to let him choose the name, but he cut him a deal: his name in the arena was Robin. That way, his name was his own and private.

And Dick had grinned at that, shiny blue eyes somehow brighter.

Battle Dolls were tricky to create, as Bruce understood. There was a thin line between a creepy-looking doll and a realistic one, and another thin line between realistic and all too realistic. He knew there was a lot of concern over Dolls being able to pass as human, so they had to be distinctive. 

Dick was flexible as all get out, but his face had that Doll look. Glassy, smooth, all too well put together like porcelain—but far stronger.

And Dick was also a chatterbox. “Holy Botched Arena Design, look at this place!”

The arena that day was shaped like a rose—probably. It looked distinctly like something else in a rather uncomfortable way. The ridges were meant to make the arena more challenging, but it just seemed like it obscure the view of the audience, and the pink was probably not intended to look so much like a human rash.

Dick started giggling.

“Robin, please keep a straight face,” Bruce murmured to him. Laughter was easily misconstrued as weakness, or a defect in the arena, and part of Robin’s strength was in getting the other Battle Dolls to underestimate him.

“I can’t help it,” Dick insisted, and there was another bit that was so human. So unlike what they said Battle Dolls were.

“It is very poorly designed,” Bruce had to admit.

Dick was giggling again, jointed fingers pressed up against his mouth. His blue eyes looked to Bruce again, seeming to sparkle with mirth in spite of the fact he clearly knew Bruce didn’t want him to giggle.

Bruce sighed. He was probably never going to exact control over Dick, and he honestly didn’t want to. He and his mechanic, Alfred Pennyworth, were a bit unusual in the Battle Doll world anyway, and he didn’t care to be the same. He didn’t care to make his Doll act a way he didn’t act naturally.

Some might debate what natural was for a Doll, but Bruce just couldn’t do that to Dick.

“You’re going to be fighting Gypsy Curse over there.”

The Doll was bedecked in scarves and glittering medals, a true stereotype. Not unusual for a Battle Doll, but when Bruce looked back at Dick, he was shocked to find the Doll frowning deeply. It didn’t make much sense, but it seemed like Dick was taking the other Doll very personally.

“Do you know them?” Bruce asked, frowning a little. Not nearly as much as Dick was, that was for sure.

“…no,” was all Dick murmured, before he hopped over the gate.

That was a bad habit the Doll had, as it was supposed to open for them, but Bruce let it go. He could see people busily lining up their tickets into the reading machines, placing bets on who would win. 

That was never a fun part, honestly. When Dick lost. He didn’t often lose, but it wasn’t fun to piece him back together or have him malfunctioning. Sometimes, Bruce swore he cried, even though he’d been told Battle Dolls were programmed to be unable to even mimic crying.

The third Doll came into the ring, a fairly simple silver design, but it was clear from the start he was a third wheel.

Gypsy Curse acted like she had attitude, though Bruce knew it had to be programming, the way she flared out her ribbons and taunted Dick.

Bells jingled discordantly when Dick slammed into her, not at all like his normal fighting style. Bruce was actually rather alarmed, given that Dick tended towards being playful in the arena and not seeking to seriously injure.

The clack of their parts meeting, his arm against her cheek, her knee into his chest, wasn’t lost over the sounds of the observing audience. Audio was important, and they tended not to skimp on that.

Dolls didn’t often talk during the fight. Many of them were just not clever enough for their owners to encourage it, and besides, the focus was very visual and physical in these matches. Watching someone do an impossible spin kick was the focus, rather than what they said.

It was about when Dick shattered Gypsy Curse’s arm, though, that words started to filter through.

“…that’s my arm…”

“…I don’t care!”

Bruce could tell the audience members were shocked at the conversation. He watched as Dick animatedly tried to smash Gypsy Curse’s leg as well, only for Gypsy Curse to take a decidedly unorthodox move and slam the jagged remains of her arm into his face. The screeching noise and the actual _cry_ from Dick had everyone enthralled.

“Not my fault!” Was what Gypsy Curse seemed to be saying, as Dick stumbled back—Bruce realized he’d been blinded.

That was about when the silver one jumped into, ending Dick by smashing into his abdomen—Bruce’s heart gave a jerk as Dick made a single noise that quickly cut off into a mess of shattering and static.

He didn’t notice Gypsy Curse and the silver one battling it out. He barely cared who won at this point. All he could see was the shattered form of Robin, Dick, his Battle Doll. His palms were sweating, he realized, nervous at the damage done.

He wondered if Dolls felt fear.

The match was over after far too long, and he descended on the arena to pick up the pieces of his Doll himself. He didn’t trust the custodians to care. He gathered everything up, could see the most important pieces were still intact, and he had to wonder what the silver one was made out of.

He could see Cobblepot cackle, the silver one at his side as the winner. “Streamline will never lose a competition. He’s too strong.”

Said Doll simply looked blankly ahead, not unlike many Dolls.

Bruce took Dick home, and Alfred shook his head, but set to work.

Dick wouldn’t talk on being put back together. They figured out he could, but simply refused. Alfred suggested giving him a little space to think.

Bruce let it be, for now.

He would need to talk to Dick about protecting himself properly in the arena, though. Bruce might not have desperately needed money, but Dick did need to win sometimes for this to work out. 

And…though Bruce didn’t necessarily want to say so, he didn’t want to see Dick like that again.

His shattered body haunted his sleep until Dick came around to talking again a day or two later. Then, it was only a visiting shade.

He couldn’t let that happen to Dick again.


	2. Bruce Versus Jack Napier and Oliver Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce searches for Dick and finds two people he'd rather not.

A Battle Doll was meant to be both aesthetically pleasing and strong. Good at fighting, anyway. Sheer strength alone would be boring, hence all the differrent abilities a Battle Doll might have.

Dick’s main strength was in his agility and flexibility. He was fast and hard to land a hit on.

He seemed to enjoy flipping for the sheer joy of it, often throwing such moves in without a necessity in a fight. It made him popular, though, so Bruce let it be. 

He also flipped a lot outside of the arena. In fact, getting to not climb everything in sight was more of a challenge than Bruce could have ever anticipated. He happily perched almost anywhere, places that would scare the shit out of a human just from sheer liklihood of falling.

He was easy to lose track of, thanks to that.

“Dick,” Bruce shouted, not liking raising his voice, but not being able to find him another way. He remembered the option of a tracker being installed when he bought Dick, and wavered a little on having refused it.

He hadn’t thought the Doll would stray so far so oftten.

The Doll had a habit of giggling to give himself away, but a compound was not the place to be lost as a Doll. Dick _should_ know this, but as always, his curiosity and desire to have fun got the best of him. They hadn’t been here before, and he’d been more adventurous and less likely to stick near Bruce since the Gypsy Curse fiasco.

“Dick!”

“You’re in the wrong building for that,” came the comment, and Bruce turned sharply to find the source of the voice. He narrowed his eyes at the figure before him, dressed simply and yet very expensively.

“Napier,” he said, voice devoid of anything.

The man grinned, smile far too wide to be anything good. “If your Robin’s missing, we could play an old fashioned game of hide and seek. Finders, keepers, losers, weepers, and I haven’t seen you cry yet—“

“Harlequin probably needs her joints oiled, if you can spare the time,” Bruce replied gruffly. It was a little well known that Jack Napier did not care well for his Doll. Ever since a dip in toxic chemicals, he had been even more of a madman, unpredictable and quite frankly, his actions were usually irrational.

Or at least unjustifiable.

Napier just laughed. “If you want to oil her joints while I look for Robin, that’s up to you.”

Bruce glared at him. Not a strong glare, just enough to show he was annoyed and Napier should back off. He had no desire to fight, but he would, and Napier should realize that.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Oliver Queen, here to break up a potential fight. Very typical of him. His goatee, which was as blond as the rest of his hair, if not blonder, made Bruce kind of want to grab it and punch him in the face.

He was very irritating at best.

“Ah, Queen,” Napier greeted. “Good for you on the last battle! Speedy might not live up to his name, but he is surprisingly resourceful.”

Bruce clenched his teeth. He’d never seen the kind of dysfunction between Oliver and his Doll elsewhere—where the Doll survived a long time and won a number of fights, anyway. Most people who didn’t understand their Dolls or mistreated them tended to lose them fast.

Speedy, on the other hand, had survived.

“Yeah, Speedy’s pretty good—but we’re working on his speed. He really needs to move faster,” Oliver said, the air of someone who knew—but really didn’t.

Speedy’s strengths were not and had never been in how fast he was. Any idiot could tell by looking at his build and features.

Queen was a special kind of idiot, in Bruce’s book.

“Ah. He has a match coming up, doesn’t he?” Napier responded.

“Yeah, in an hour or so—hey, isn’t it against Robin and that other—you know, that one?” Oliver couldn’t seem to recall the name somehow. 

“Yes, it is. And her name is Cheshire.”

Somehow, the unfriendly tone didn’t phase Oliver. He just shrugged, saying, “Ah, that weird one, can’t even see her eyes. I mean, who designs a Doll like that? Seems counterintuitive to me, anyway. Even if it is a mask, it ruins some of the fight.”

And that sat uncomfortably with Bruce.

He couldn’t explain why, precisely. He was a Doll trainer too, and it wasn’t like he didn’t try to think of ways to improve Robin’s fighting and his marketability. His appeal to the audience. It was a way to both make a living and worm into the inner circles of higher ups in governmental groups. 

Making a living wasn’t hard right now—he had still inherited a lot of money and had a boarding house, Wayne Manor, that provided for needs and some wants, but if he was going to change anything, or find out the deep dark secrets of the country’s government, he needed an in.

And politics wasn’t going to cut it.

Dick being remarkably human-like was not in the plan, though.

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane—no, it’s Robin!” Napier cheered in that disgusting voice of his that made Bruce want to hide Dick somewhere.

It was indeed Dick, and he seemed to almost flutter to Bruce’s side, flapping cape making the bird illusion that much better. He stood just behind Bruce, and murmured, “Sorry.”

It was strangely subdued for Dick, and Bruce nodded. “It’s fine. Come on.”

“Wow, you sure let him get away with murder!” Napier cackled.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you let him wander so much. Aren’t you afraid he’ll go home with someone else? They’re easily confused,” Queen put in.

“He knows who I am,” Bruce said shortly, and left with Dick in tow. 

He looked to Dick. “Is…is everything all right?”

“I don’t want to fight Speedy. I really don’t.” Dick admitted this in a small rush, quiet but urgent. “Can I just not?”

“I don’t have anyone to substitute. Why don’t you want to fight him?” Bruce was curious. Dick hadn’t expressed this sort of thing much before.

“Cause I talked to him, and I don’t want to.”

Bruce was quiet, wondering what went into a Doll conversation and especially one that would make Dick not want to fight Speedy. Either way, they couldn’t just back out, though. “Just focus on Cheshire, then.”

Dick sounded like he was pouting, but didn’t technically say anything.

Bruce thought he heard a murmured, ‘You suck,’ but he let it go.

This arena was fairly straightforward—a few ledges for more interesting fighting, but otherwise just gray and black edging and not a lot to play with.

He’d have to make sure Dick could fight these two—after all, Chesire had a lot of similar strengths, and Speedy had range. Not a lot of advantages for Dick.

He probably should have talked to Dick more beforehand.

At least, that was the conclusion he would make later. Now, he only thought about how to best win the fight.

A poor choice, as it turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very weird society? I dunno, man.


	3. Robin Versus Cheshire Versus Speedy

Dick was in the middle of the arena, and somehow his posture just looked _grumpy._ It was hard to say how Bruce knew that, or if Dolls could even be grumpy, but Dick seemed to be.

Speedy, on the other hand, was already making for a perch up high, scaling the side easily and seating himself there, his ranged weaponry, a sort of low key arm cannon, pointed so that Cheshire and Robin would know he could shoot either one of them at a moment’s notice.

He had blaringly red and yellow patterning. His hat looked ridiculously Robin Hood like, a red feather sticking up.

Bruce got the sense he was very determined and resourceful, because it was clear he wasn’t being taught or outfitted properly for his type.

Cheshire, who was an aesthetically pleasing mix of green and cat, came towards Robin first. She was _fast_ , faster than she’d seemed on the videos that Bruce had reviewed prior to the match. The crowd was clearly enthralled as Robin countered, really having to put his all into the fight.

No distracting playing. Dick was all in.

And Bruce found himself on the edge of his seat, somehow more than usual. This was different, somehow. He wasn’t sure how, but when Cheshire knocked Robin down with a loud clunk noise, he could see there was something personal here.

Because Speedy took the shot, lodging an arrow-type projectile in her shoulder.

And Bruce realized he could have shot Robin at any time, especially since it wouldn’t matter if he hit Cheshire by mistake.

Cheshire’s head jerked to look towards Speedy—except it really wasn’t an outright jerk, far more smooth and calculated than that. The huge grin on her mask seemed to match her body language suddenly, and she started to move towards Speedy.

He shot off more projectiles, lodging several more, and Bruce realized then that Oliver definitely hadn’t equipped Speedy with effective projectile weapons, despite it clearly being his strength.

Speedy hurtled himself off the ledge as Cheshire made her way up, slamming her foot into the spot he’d been.

Bruce thought he heard Oliver say something, in a laughing tone, about that being why he called him Speedy. He ignored Queen.

Robin was up, though, and running towards Speedy. Bruce squinted a little, not sure he was seeing standard behavior at all—because Speedy ran right past Robin and instead Robin met Cheshire’s blow. It wasn’t a tactically obvious move, in a lot of ways, not the least of which was leaving his back open to Speedy.

But Speedy didn’t take the opportunity. Instead, he took up another position, and fired another projectile into Cheshire.

Bruce felt like he could explain this away as normal Doll behavior. Realizing the larger foe was Cheshire or something, and therefore only working on attacking her. But Robin was very much putting himself at risk—and it seemed like he was doing it for Speedy.

Cheshire seemed to shake a little, it looking almost like _laughter_ , as she plucked the projectile out of her body armor, and snapped it in two.

And Dick viciously slammed his fist into her then, sending her skidding back a foot or two.

If Bruce wasn’t mistaken, that was _anger_.

And Speedy came swooping in, yellow foot colliding with Cheshire’s head and sending her mask flying. The creak of his joints was audible, which was curious for a Doll, and it looked like he hit the ground hard. Like his shock absorption just wasn’t made for such leaps.

Which was likely. Bruce turned to see Oliver looking proud, which said he’d probably personally pushed that move. 

And Robin was already blocking Cheshire’s strike towards Speedy’s unprotected back. Which was blatant in a way the other protections hadn’t been, and now the crowd was starting to grumble, starting to whisper words of ‘fraud’ and ‘cheating.’

Cheshire’s shiny green-brown eyes seemed to glint, and she drove a foot into Robin’s chest, sending him stumbling back.

He should have taken a millisecond at least to recover. He should have let her turn her attention elsewhere, what with the crack spread on his chest. But he didn’t, he ran pell mell back in, as Speedy was leaping up to move out of the way, and slammed into her. Not much finesse in that one.

And now the crowd was getting angry, calling out to the Moderator to do something, to give back their money, to stop the _cheating_.

And Dick didn’t seem to give a damn, slamming into Cheshire again.

He didn’t even seem to care much if there was damage done to him.

But Cheshire slammed him aside, a smirk reminiscient of her name on her face. She was taller, it was true, though easily as lithe. She streaked across the floor, and Speedy blocked her attacks, not quite able to return them.

And then she smashed his leg, and he fell. He scrambled, arms underneath him as he tried to get away.

And Robin was back, the roar that escaped him as he gave everything he had into smashing her head enough to stun the audience.

She was toppled. Not out of the fight, even though her head was clearly cracked.

And now Robin was blatantly standing protectively over Speedy, and the clamor of the crowd rose, demanding to know what the hell was going on, to have their money back, to get that malfunctioning Doll out of the arena, just general noise.

Bruce could see the shock on Oliver’s face. He certainly hadn’t expected what went down to happen, and he started to protest his innocence in the matter.

But Bruce could also see pure fury in Dick’s eyes, an emotion that Dolls weren’t supposed to have, that they weren’t _really_ supposed to be able to emote. And Cheshire wasn’t making a move, standing coolly off to the side and waiting for instructions.

And Dick had such defiance in his posture that it really set Bruce wondering: how human were Dolls? And was it right to put them through this?

The match was called off ‘on account of malfunction’ hastily, as the roar of the crowd rose. Bruce rushed down, intending to grab Dick before any of the ring guard could. They were notoriously rough and brutal, given they were working with nonhumans. The main complaint was that they damaged the Dolls more than necessary.

He reached Dick quickly, but he could see his Doll was still standing stubbornly over Speedy, seemingly about to fight any ring guard who came his way. 

“Robin,” he said sharply, “Come here. Now.”

Dick looked over at him with surprising defiance. “They have to not hurt Speedy, or else I won’t come.”

“Dolls can’t be _hurt_ ,” Oliver Queen said, having made his way in. He looked down at Speedy, who now had a shattered stub for a leg, and said, “Come on, Speedy, it’s time to go.”

Speedy was suddenly shaking violently, and Bruce wondered if it was a malfunction. Robin, however, leaned down to give the fellow Doll a hand up, arm draped over his shoulders to support him.

It was uncomfortably human.

“You have to update his memory core!” Dick growled, “You didn’t since you got him, and it’s corroded!”

“Oh. Well, I’ll do that soon--” Oliver started.

“No, you’ll do it immediately!”

And suddenly, Robin’s rage made some sense. The Memory Core was what made a Doll who or what they were. Otherwise, it was just a bunch of parts. If it was dated, or corroded, or both, it was highly likely that a shutdown of any kind would destroy it. Wipe it clean.

A shutdown such as losing, for instance, was very likely to wipe it clean.

Oliver seemed very confused at being spoken to that way, and looked to Bruce as if to ask if he was making the voice and Dick was moving his mouth. Bruce stepped up, suddenly, deciding there was something he had to get to the bottom of. “I’ll buy him. He’s so broken down the repairs aren’t worth it.”

Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “Why do you want him, then?”

Bruce decided to lie. “Parts. I’ll give you enough to replace him with a basic model. It’s up to you what to do after that.”

Oliver considered, then nodded. “All right, but it’s a shame. He was a very good Doll, after all.”

He said it like Speedy wasn’t standing right there.

But Bruce let it be, and swiftly made the transaction, and then settled the score with the Moderator, promising to fix the malfunction as soon as possible.

He got Dick to take Speedy with him, and got them in the van. The crowd was grumpy, but having been refunded their bets, they were mostly agreeable enough—enough not to tear the Dolls to pieces on the way to the transport. 

“Richard,” Bruce said shortly, as they settled inside. “We are going to talk about this.”

“I’m not sorry,” Dick shot back, and Speedy was staring blankly forward.

Very blankly.

Bruce leaned in, looking into the Doll’s blue eyes. “Speedy. Respond.”

“Designated Speedy,” came the reply. As if confirming.

Dick didn’t seem too highly disturbed, so Bruce didn’t know if he should be either. He set in the coordinates, and tried to decide what to do with this.

Maybe Dick was unique. Maybe he was a quirk in programming, as compared to the rest of the Dolls.

But then, Bruce couldn’t deny to himself the look he’d seen on Speedy’s face in the arena. That was fear. Unadulterated fear.

And Dolls weren’t supposed to feel that either.


	4. Speedy and Robin versus Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce isn't sure Speedy can be repaired.
> 
> This provokes a reaction in Dick he wasn't expecting, and it sets him down a course he hadn't counted on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this on a hiking trip! :D

Speedy needed oiled, first off, according to Dick. The way he did it, miming Alfred expertly, was somehow unnerving. Speedy didn’t so much as make a sound, seemingly watching Dick but his eyes didn’t seem that focused.

And the way Dick carefully moved the joints made Bruce wonder yet again how human Dolls were. Because Dick had to know he wouldn’t actually hurt Speedy if he was too rough with his joints, and yet, he acted like that was even a possibility.

Alfred hovered a little, but his eyes kept coming back to Bruce, a shielded meaningful look there. What precisely he was noticing, or being pointed about, Bruce wasn’t sure. 

Dick finally backed away when he was seemingly satisfied. His head swiveled towards Bruce, and he said, “He needs repaired. He’s really corroded.”

Bruce nodded, and pried open Speedy’s chest panel. Pried, because even with Dick’s oiling, it was stuck and poorly maintained at best. He thought he saw a shudder go through Speedy, but that had to be mechanics. 

His core was extremely corroded, and Bruce could see that he had been very likely to be erased had he been smashed. He said nothing, as Dolls (Bruce was told) commonly didn’t speak much. Dick was very much an exception to the rule. 

He could hear Dick move a little, closer, but not touching either of them.

“Alfred, this is worse than I thought,” he commented, “I’m not confident we can reverse this.”

Dick was suddenly next to him, hand clenched in Speedy’s. He seemed to be almost… _glaring_. At Bruce.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should take a look before you make a prognosis.”

Bruce stepped aside for Alfred, feeling a bit absurdly embarrassed. He wasn’t certain why, as he hadn’t done anything embarrassing.

Alfred poked around carefully, seeming to keep an eye on Dick. The Doll was hovering, in a very human way, like a parent or a sibling watching their child or brother get medical work done. Like the pronouncement was about to be given whether they were incurable of some human disease.

It unsettled Bruce’s stomach in so many ways.

Speedy barely moved, only keeping his fingers locked around Dick’s. It made Bruce wonder how capable he was of moving or communicating at the moment.

So he asked a question to ascertain it.

“Speedy. When were you created?”

Speedy’s eyes seemed to flash a little when they turned towards him. “My manufacture date is on my tag.”

It seemed almost…sharp. And yet also timid, somehow.

It couldn’t be scared.

But, Bruce pushed on, something niggling at the back of his mind. “Speedy, I gave a direct command, and you will answer it.”

The contempt was almost palpable, and Speedy was silent for a long time. Alfred simply worked quietly, examining the corrosion.

“Go die.”

“Speedy!” Dick said this loudly, glancing at Bruce as he did. 

And Bruce couldn’t deny it much longer. But he had to know for sure, leaning in to Speedy’s space. “Give me a direct answer, or I will sell you to someone else. I have no use for a defective Doll.”

He could hear the scrape as Dick’s grip tightened on Speedy, and his voice cut in, “You can’t, you promised--!”

“You were already going to scrap me, I don’t give a fuck!” Speedy shouted at him, shudders going through his body as he tried not to lean away from Bruce. “I know that’s the truth, no matter what Dick says!”

Bruce wasn’t sure what Dick had said, actually not recalling him saying anything to that effect. But he frowned—until he saw Dick’s clenched fist, the way he looked at him like he would sock him if only he could.

Bruce gingerly moved back out of Speedy’s space.

His theory was pretty much confirmed.

“Alfred,” he said, voice a little flat as the full implications were hitting him, “Pull out all stops to repair him.”

Alfred nodded, and neither of the Dolls said anything.

Bruce, meanwhile, went off to his computer. The thing could connect to more databases than an average person’s, though a lot of that was illegal. He started his research, trying to find out more about how Dolls were created. They’d all seen manufactories on the newsclips and such, but he was realizing more and more that something else was going on here.

He wasn’t exactly banking on Dolls just randomly gaining a soul.

Robots, AIs, they couldn’t do that. It wasn’t possible, presuming souls were even a thing. Many people claimed it was what made humans unique, but Bruce wouldn’t put too much stock in something that hadn’t been proven.

Details on how, precisely, the AI was made were sparse at best. It tended to simply make reference to a ‘loaded memory core’ and move on from there.

Bruce had a feeling it might be hidden on purpose. He really hoped it was purely for ‘closely guarded trade secret’ reasons, rather than something nefarious.

He didn’t know for sure what would be nefarious about it. But something was undeniably off here, and he didn’t know what. His Dolls did not match up with what society said they were. They acted much like humans, and had feelings much like humans.

He wasn’t about to just disregard that.

He wandered back after a while, frustrated with a lack of information, to find Alfred still working.

Dick had stabilized Speedy, sitting behind him and holding his shoulders. This seemed to be pretty necessary, given the occasional shudder the seemed to go through Speedy. There was an added element of simply holding his friend that Bruce couldn’t ignore, and he wondered how Dick knew Speedy. If he even did, but he had to.

There was too much familiarity not to.

Alfred seemed to be working with his smallest tools, and it was clearly delicate work. Bruce would have expected as much, given the damage.

Dick didn’t look up at him for the longest time, almost like he was hoping he’d go away if he ignored him. Then, he did look up, and he looked rather fiercely protective. “Bruce, don’t—“

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Bruce responded, surprising both himself and Dick. People rarely talked in terms of hurt with Dolls, as the general assumption was that they couldn’t be. But Bruce had said exactly the right thing, because Dick’s attention turned back to Speedy and holding him steady.

Speedy didn’t do anything. His head was ducked down a little. His hands were splayed behind him, supporting him. Then, his head lolled back a little, resting on Dick’s shoulder. He seemed to be hiding his face from Bruce, and it was yet another human action that solidified Bruce’s belief.

They were undeniably sentient. Not in the way that AI was commonly described, as a way of calculating best outcome in human terms. There was no calculable upside to Dick protecting Speedy—besides genuinely caring about him. And that was a damning argument against the idea that they were on the same level as much of the AI in use in society.

Alfred was still working, and Bruce knew for sure that it was extremely delicate work because he was sweating. It wasn’t that Alfred didn’t sweat, given that he was a mechanic, but that it was dripping down his face without him bothering to wipe it off.

He was very focused on saving Speedy.

The work ended up taking a solid hour. Dick held Speedy the entire time, which made sense, given that Dolls didn’t get tired in the same sense as humans. At worst, they’d need some extra charge, given they self-charged.

The clink of Dick moving, his limbs bumping against Speedy’s torso, and Alfred sitting back heavily, letting out a breath, brought Bruce’s attention back. He’d been looking up more, trying to find answers. No luck yet.

Alfred looked over at him, and his face was an answer: he was tired, but he’d done it. Bruce grabbed him a bottle of water on his way over, seeing the way Alfred had clearly spent himself.

Dick seemed to be grinning, and hadn’t actually let go of Speedy, turning him, or letting him turn himself, but still holding him. Well, if Bruce was being honest, it was a hug.

Speedy didn’t say anything, which prompted Bruce to want to check he could still speak. “Speedy, answer some simple questions for me.”

“He’s okay,” Dick insisted, “He’s fine. Everything’s intact.”

“How do you know that?” Bruce asked, a little bemused on how Dick could know. He wasn’t certain that it wasn’t wishful thinking.

Dick was silent. “I just do,” he finally said, suddenly looking almost protective.

Which only confirmed the wishful thinking theory. “Please have Speedy speak for himself. Speedy, tell me your manufacture date.”

Speedy hissed at him, of all things, and Bruce was starting to think there was a malfunction and Dick was trying to hide it, but then Speedy followed it up with, “Fuck you. I have a tag, read it. Unless you’re too stupid to read.”

Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line. How was he supposed to verify the memory core was intact if he had very little he knew about Speedy?

“You will answer my questions,” he said sternly, wondering if there had been a severe lack of discipline with Queen. That seemed likely.

“Bruce, come on—“ Dick started, but Bruce cut him off.

“Speedy must answer, not you, Dick,” Bruce said. He needed to know Speedy worked, after all. Despite what they seemed to think, he wasn’t being cruel.

Speedy seemed to be almost curling behind Dick, and refusing to answer.

“Speedy—“

“ _Fuck you!_ ” Dick’s shout startled Bruce. The Doll continued on, “Just stop it! He was made the same day as me and we don’t—we don’t talk about that day.”

The voice Dick was using was strangely shaky. 

Bruce swallowed, wondering what the hell could have happened that would make both of them refuse to use a date or even a time frame. Like they couldn’t erase it from their minds enough. And he wondered yet again, what had made them Dolls? Why would they remember—and refuse to talk about it?

The whole atmosphere of the room was different with that admission. It was quiet.

Bruce slowly drew up a stool, and sat quietly. “I…I apologize.”

Both looked stunned.

He continued, “I need you to tell me why you don’t want to remember. What did they do? How were you made?”

“Not permitted,” was what Dick said hollowly, robotically. “Information not permitted.”

His eyes looked disturbingly like he’d like to say something else.

Bruce nodded slowly. Something was extremely wrong here. “Okay. I might ask you some questions later. For now, why don’t you two…relax.”

He couldn’t think quite how to speak to them.

They seemed to indeed relax, not a word spoken between them.

He headed back to his computer uneasily. There was something far deeper, and darker, going on here. And it would mean putting his plans to topple the current king through subterfuge on hold.

Only temporarily.

Only temporarily, he told himself, as he looked back at the Dolls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Bruce is a little slow to realize what's going on with the Dolls, but that's partly because it's so far from what he's trying to do. He kind of wishes it wasn't a thing.


	5. Bruce Versus The System (and himself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has to come to terms with what Dolls are. And decide what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some disturbing stuff.

The fact that Dick would not leave Speedy’s side spoke to Bruce of what could have made them. What they were.

And what research he could dig up confirmed far more nefarious things.

Dick had once mentioned his name was Dick Grayson, that chirpy voice seeming very pleased at deciding this. Now, Bruce was pretty certain he actually hadn’t decided this—it was a name given to him.

So, he searched the databases for, first, a Dick Grayson, and then, when that failed to turn up results, a Richard Grayson.

Grayson had a certain amount of recurrence, it being a common enough name, but there were a handful of Richards.

One was a delivery driver that lived hundreds of miles away.

One was an elderly man who justified living with his mathematics skills.

One was a deceased case, a prostitute who had outlived their usefulness.

And that would have been the one that caught his eye, had it not been for the next one: a missing child report, made by a single person, for a Richard Grayson.

The document had not been destroyed, so Bruce got it open, and read the chilling text.

‘Richard is ten years old, about four foot nine inches or so, black hair, blue eyes, cheery disposition. He disappeared about three days ago, after the deaths of his parents. He goes by Dick. He’s not the type of child to run away.’

There was no signature, no name attached but the symbol for anonymous.

And Bruce had to wonder who had submitted it, left a record of Dick. 

He turned to look back at Dick, trying to be sure if this could really be the same person. Dick’s eyes flickered over to look at him, and they were blue. It looked like Speedy was trying to mimic sleeping at the moment, curled up with his head in Dick’s lap, and Dick was watching over him.

“Robin—Dick, could you come over here a moment?” Bruce said softly.

Dick nodded, and shifted Speedy so he’d stand. And then brought him over with him.

Bruce wasn’t sure if Dick thought leaving Speedy unattended for one second would mean him being snatched. He perhaps underestimated how protective Dick was.

Both were standing there, and Bruce weighed what he was about to say. He gestured towards the screen, finally, and said, “Is this...you?”

He could see the way Dick froze, eyeing the missing child report intently. His mouth clicked open once or twice, and then, he finally said, “They remembered me. They did.”

Speedy was silent.

Dick continued on, “That’s gotta be Red-Nose, he was—he was the funniest, and he always gave me hugs, even when—especially when—he, he said they’d keep me, they wouldn’t let them just cause my parents--”

Bruce’s heart did a painful twist, both plummeting and cracking. He shouldn’t have been so nauseated, since he knew it was a possibility. “Dick, did you start out as a human boy?”

“I’m still human,” Dick murmured. “We’re still here.”

That was the confirmation that Bruce needed.

He looked to Speedy. “What’s your real name?”

Speedy’s mouth stayed shut. 

“He can’t—he can’t tell you,” Dick murmured, looking almost apologetically at Speedy. “Most of em can’t. Almost all, actually. They got, uh...” he tapped his head, “They don’t let it.”

The ‘they’ did not seem to be the Dolls.

And that meant they were snatching children and perhaps others and then programming them so they couldn’t breathe a word of it. Bruce wished he could ask how, because this kind of technology was frighteningly advanced even for this age, in which AI ran so many things and it was so hard to tell whether or not you were talking to a human in communication.

And now he was wondering how much of that was the same deal.

“Can you tell me his name?” Bruce asked, watching the pair.

Neither of them seemed to move, but Dick said, finally, “His name’s Roy. Roy Harper. He’s way different than the rest, so you can’t get rid of him! He’s my best friend and my only friend and--”

His voice, a loud rush, was startling. Bruce cut him off.

“I’m not going to get rid of Roy.”

Dick’s mouth clicked shut a moment, and then he nodded. “I just...he’s my best friend. Roy and I made it.”

And that sent a new surge of sickening possibilities through Bruce’s mind, but for the moment, he stood, and looked over at Alfred. The man’s eyes were sad, watching the pair of Dolls—boys, like he wanted nothing more than to make their hurt go away. And yet knowing how impossible that was.

Alfred came forward, gently resting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Would you two like a break? I’m certain Roy could use more work on his joints.”

Dick nodded, saying, “Yeah, ol Creaky Joints here--” 

There was a clink noise as Roy whapped him, not hard enough to do any damage, and looked vaguely sulky.

Dick seemed to giggle, the sound coming out only slightly different than a normal human child. “You know I just love you, Roy. That’s all it is, don’t act embarrassed.”

Roy did act embarrassed anyway, shoulders hunching a little.

As if it weren’t already quite clear to both Bruce and Alfred that Dick cared deeply for Roy, even if it hadn’t been that dreaded L word.

And Bruce knew, he knew that instant, that this was not going to be a small dalliance in his quest. This was not going to be an extra thing he did on the side for a week or two at most.

They were taking kids and shoving their consciousnesses into robotic bodies.

Why would they make them entertainment? Why would they make for fighting, rather than something else? He’d thought, maybe deluded himself, initially, that the Doll was charming as well as functional, and that was why. The uber rich would find any amusement to divert themselves, and they’d been unsavory before.

Bruce was quiet as he considered all angles.

He certainly wouldn’t be able to safely examine the boys’ software in that regard. He couldn’t put either of them in that kind of danger.

Meanwhile, though, he was distracted.

Dick and Roy were off to the side, but they were playing a game--the kind where one tried to hit the other's hands before the other could move them. They were most certainly not oiling joints, like Alfred had suggested, and instead he could see Alfred watching quietly, that same sadness in his eyes.

Confirming their definite humanity, and the things that had been done to them, had to be hitting him hard. He'd been Bruce's caretaker, parent in everything but name, Bruce supposed. He knew what children were supposed to be like, and to _know_ what had happened...

Bruce was sure some would gladly shut their eyes again. Would pretend they hadn't noticed, didn't know, because knowing was so horrific.

He knew because of what happened to his parents--and the ensuing response.

Initial horror, and then complacency once again. A sort of settling back into normal, like it couldn't happen to them or had never _really_ happened, and he was easily forgotten, an aberration when he simply didn't stop being a living reminder of that night of horror.  
People didn't like tragedy that went unresolved, a horror that wasn't being fixed. 

If there was no resolution, they were too happy to pretend there had been, and move on. 

And that was absolutely not what Bruce was going to do here. He owed it, or maybe he felt like he could never be those people. He couldn't turn his back on people--kids--just like him.

He had to be what he needed then, maybe.

Alfred saw him looking, and came over. "What do you need me to do?"

Bruce tapped away at the files he'd procured. "Read these. Then figure out how anyone could have done this." 

Alfred had been doing this sort of thing far longer. His and Bruce's skills together might crack it.

Alfred nodded, and set to work, though not without a small smile in Bruce's direction. "The boys mentioned being bored. Perhaps you could dig up one of your old favorite games?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this made some sense. :P It's been tough writing, up until literally tonight. I've been a little depressed, but now I'm both happy and sleep-deprived, which is an excellent writing scenario. For sheer numbers and weird ideas, anyway. 
> 
> :)


	6. Bruce Wayne Versus Roy and Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While playing a game, Bruce gets to know Roy and Dick a little...and get more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes sense.

It turned out Roy and Dick both enjoyed the glass checkers game Bruce had stowed away. It was not a terribly complex game, but it did allow for more than two players, so it was good to get himself involved. He thought it was good, anyway. Observation was good.

The blue tiles Dick moved around rapidly made a clinking noise. He looked up at Bruce with an almost pensive look in his eyes, which was again not a thing that was supposed to be possible. “You’re real old, huh?”

Bruce blinked, a little surprised by the question. “I’m actually not. I’m not a child, though, and I haven’t been for a long time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Wasn’t asking, but okay.” Dick leaned forward a little more, and asked, “How come you never get a friend?”

“A…friend?”

“Yeah, you know. The kind you share the bed with,” Dick said, a certain amount of innocence on his face.

Bruce blinked, surprised at the turn this had so rapidly taken. “Well, I—“

“Mate.” Roy stated this, a hint of victory in his tone.

“What—oh.” Bruce was almost impressed, as the two high-fived, Roy’s red pieces effectively blocking and defeating Bruce’s. That was good teamwork, he had to admit, as devious as it was. “You know this isn’t a team game, don’t you?”

Dick said, surprisingly fiercely, “If Roy’s winning, then so am I!”

Roy didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem to talk a lot, especially in comparison.

A single look from Bruce, though, was enough to make him turn his face away, studying the game board instead. His eyes had a certain intensity to them, like this game was very important.

Bruce sighed softly. “I see. You two are very close.”

“Well, yeah!” Dick grinned. “You’d love Roy if you got know him too!”

Bruce got the feeling that if Dolls could flush, that was what Roy would be doing right now. He was staring so intently at the game board that Bruce was pretty sure he could have lit it on fire had he been given that capability.

“You would,” Dick insisted, blue eyes flashing. “He’s really great.”

Bruce looked again towards Roy, and his eyes were very firmly focused on the board still. Evidently, he didn’t want to be recommended as someone to be loved.

Dick let out a melodramatic sigh. Roy glared at him.

“So,” Bruce said, breaking up the awkwardness (he hoped), “Are you two the same age?”

Dick’s face seemed to fall a little. “Yeah, round the same age. What? It’s not like he wouldn’t have been able to guess, Roy.”

Roy’s expression had barely changed.

He really didn’t seem to talk much.

“But our birthdays are probably different,” Dick said. 

“You...have birthdays. Of course,” Bruce murmured to himself, a little disappointed with himself for being surprised. Of course they would have birthdays. They were people. He needed to get entirely on board with that concept, or else he would be able to put this to the back of his mind like so many other people had.

“Yeah, the 11th of November is mine! But we don’t know Roy’s, so we mostly just celebrate together like it’s both of our birthdays,” Dick informed Bruce. 

Rather abruptly, he went over and wrapped his arms around Roy, who, to Bruce’s surprise, didn’t fight him off.

It was...strangely eery. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling from that. Them hugging was not eery, it was the sudden change. Nothing seemed to have prompted it. He hadn’t even seen Roy make any kind of reaction.

Bruce turned his gaze away when he saw Dick press his hand against the back of Roy’s head, and realized Roy had just barely been glaring at him, head turned just enough to see him.

Instead of pushing in on what seemed to be a comforting moment, or, perhaps something stranger, Bruce backed up quietly, looking for something to do. It wasn’t hard to find something—he began examining the small collection of his old toys and games he still had, as if he wanted to find something else to play with them.

He thought maybe he should leave the room.

Fear made people do a lot of things, and he was really getting the sense that Roy was dealing with a lot of fear. Maybe built up fear. He had come so close to, well, death that day. 

And the way Dick kept clutching him or holding him close like a prized child or something similar made Bruce wonder if Dick was even happy here. If he ever had been, or if he’d simply been pining away for Roy or his family and hiding it excellently.

If he was being fair, though, he hadn’t really been sure Dick was human before today.

He couldn’t expect to connect in a meaningful way if he didn’t consider Dick on the same level. And that was a shamed thought, one he knew he should have spotted right away. Something to pick at himself for, he supposed.

Roy didn’t make a sound, but suddenly Dick seemed to be all right, and nearly dragged his fellow Doll over to Bruce, saying brightly, “Whatcha looking for?”

“...a game,” Bruce murmured back, and he turned from the compartment. “I think perhaps we’ve played enough, though.”

“Yeah. No offense, but your game isn’t really that exciting,” Dick said, and Roy huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh.

“I have to agree,” Bruce said, tone gentling a little. He remembered they were children, with that bald honesty that he sometimes relished. It was hard enough to find in people in general these days, he felt.

“Can we go see Alfred?” Dick asked, looking practically pleading. “Because Roy needs to talk to him.”

“All right. Can you tell me what he needs to talk to him about?” Bruce asked, starting the walk down the corridor.

Roy still said nothing.

Dick, however, said less than nothing. “It’s just something.”

Bruce let out a sigh, but led the way anyhow. He had learned long ago that Dick was as stubborn as old fashioned iron—or maybe steel. Steel could bend, but it took a lot. And Dick was not one to break in almost any sense of the word.

Alfred was still at the screen when they got back, though he looked up at them when they entered. “Ah, did you need something?”

His tone was somber, despite trying to be lighter. He gestured towards their kettle, the glass a clear blue that indicated it was full and ready to go whenever. “Did you want tea?”

Bruce looked to Dick, surprised he hadn’t voiced what they were there for.

Dick was sort of fiddling with his fingers, and then, as if he was asking for something very big, puffed his chest out. “Roy needs upgrades.”

“We gave him upgrades,” Bruce responded, a bit puzzled. 

“No, you didn’t—well, not really,” Dick responded, “Not...well, only in the one place. He needs lots more.”

“I think Roy can speak for himself,” Alfred said softly, looking to Roy.

Roy looked like he might cringe, and he said, “...my cannon sucks ass.”

It was weirdly petulant and scared all in one. Like he wanted to both fight and surrender, ask for help. And he really didn’t know how.

“That might be true, but it’s not a high priority,” Bruce responded, wondering why he thought he’d need upgrades, unless--

“It should be, cause he’s not gonna go out there like that again!” Dick said this like saying it would make it a reality.

“You’re right, he isn’t,” Bruce said simply.

Roy looked unsurely, rather sharply, to Dick, then Bruce, and started with, “You fucking liar--”

“Bruce, how could you--” Dick started at almost the same time.

“He isn’t because I’m not going to make him fight,” Bruce said, astonished that they would both think they had to either fight or be scrapped. “I’m not going to make either of you fight.”

He wasn’t prepared for the devastation across their faces.

Then again, this day was a whole batch of things he was unprepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, more will become clear in the future. :P Sorry it took so long to update, it's just been that kinda time.
> 
> (Also, I moved furniture today and I feel like a Superwoman.)


	7. Bruce versus The Will to Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is shocked by how Dick and Roy react to him telling them they don't have to fight ever again.

His knees were knocking together.

Roy, Speedy, was so worked up that his knees were knocking together.

Dick had _screamed_ at Bruce that he couldn’t do this to them, that it wasn’t fair, and Bruce had shouted back that he was trying to help.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shouted. He was _very_ caught off guard by the Dolls’ reactions, and instead of reassuring or getting to the bottom of it, he’d shouted. 

And now Roy was shaking, and both of their reactions were far more extreme than Bruce would have expected.

Dick refused to speak to him now. He’d taken Roy with him and they were on the other side of the room. Alfred had split Bruce and the boys up when Dick’s voice was able to boom far louder than Bruce’s and was giving him a headache.

Right now, Alfred was looking at Bruce in concern. He clearly hadn’t expected that reaction either.

It was as if fighting was the most important thing to both of them, and yet, that made no sense, since Roy had almost been killed. Since it was clear they’d been forced into it. So many things pointed to the opposite, to relief at not having to fight, and yet…

And yet, here they were, both boys in a corner having a breakdown of sorts. So it seemed to Bruce, anyway.

“I believe we may have misjudged their feelings,” Alfred said, voice soft. Quiet. “They seem quite upset.”

Bruce had to agree with that, even if he didn’t really understand why. “What should I do?”

Alfred got that look on his face, the one that reminded Bruce of when he was a boy and Alfred was pondering what to do with him. It was almost as if even Alfred wasn’t too sure on what would remedy the situation.

The clinking noise, while not unusual for the place, drew Bruce’s attention back to the boys. Dick was smoothing back hair that Roy didn’t really have, given his was painted on, and yet, the gesture was clearly comforting.

If anyone was the most torn up about all of this, it was Roy. He hadn’t said a word since Bruce had shouted at them, and the sounds of his joints and plates rattling was as much evidence of how hard this day had been on him as Bruce needed.

And again, he didn’t know how to fix it. It was _huge_ , though, to be fair, so was the idea of toppling their king. That hadn’t stopped Bruce from plotting and planning and placing people in key positions.

When he was small, and upset, Alfred would give him warm food, typically sweet. There were old style cookies, there were the small cakes that any parent knew how to make for their children, there were shaped fruit pieces and so on. Alfred had known how to soothe him, and that was something that Bruce had thought a universal remedy for children.

In this case, food was moot. There was nothing it could do for them except potentially upset them. Similar with hot drinks and warm blankets.

He had to figure out what to do.

As it was, he figured sooner was better than later, and so, he cautiously approached them. He didn’t miss the way Dick lifted his arm slightly, a subtle shield between him and Roy. He didn’t comment on it, instead squatting down to their level.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Bruce said softly.

Dick didn’t say anything, but he seemed quiet. He seemed like he might be willing to listen.

“Can you explain to me why you want to keep fighting?” Bruce said, “Because, to me, that’s really confusing.”

Dick’s mouth open for one moment, then clicked shut. Then he tried again, finally admitting, “I don’t know. We just...we want to. We have to.”

And that was a disconcerting answer in and of itself.

“But Roy could have been destroyed today, and you and he still want to go back in there,” Bruce said, struggling to not show his frustration. “I want you to not go in there because of that. I don’t want you hurt.”

“We’ll be okay,” Dick insisted, “Just outfit us. And, I mean, we _have to._ We can’t not fight.”

“Why? Why do you have to?” Bruce pressed, wanting to know and dreading the answer.

“Not permitted,” Dick intoned, exactly the same as the other time, “Information not permitted.”

He looked vaguely disconcerted. He suddenly seemed to pull Roy closer, like he had to protect him from whatever made him say those words. 

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Information not permitted.”

“Who decided it wasn’t permitted?”

“Information not permitted.”

“Who made you like this?”

“Information not permitted.”

Bruce let out a huff of a sigh, sinking back a bit. It was, frankly, agonizing to have this conversation of sorts with Dick. To have things that Dick probably did want to tell him auto-censored. It made little sense—and yet all the sense in the world.

If one was turning human beings into what were in essence robots, one wouldn’t want that to get out so easily.

But that left the question of _how_ they were doing this. Not to mention, _why._

Why would anyone do this to children? What possible cost benefit could there be in comparison to computer generated AIs that knew how to fight? 

Bruce didn’t think it was possible this could that economically sound. Children weren’t the cheapest commodity even when unwanted or undesired. What poking around Bruce had done on the black market suggested they would, as a large quantity, be more expensive than basic AI technologies. And whatever sickening process did this...it couldn’t be cheap either.

At least, that was an assumption he was willing to make.

In addition to the cost of the procedure and the children, there was the cost of keeping people’s mouths shut about this. And that was not cheap either, in most black market type deals, but especially with something as heinous as this.

“All right,” he finally murmured, “You can continue to fight, and we’ll outfit Roy properly.”

The relief was visible in both of them. Even if neither of them could name the terror, it was clear it had been there.

“Can we get Roy an arm cannon? He’d really like one,” Dick said, and Roy whapped him on the shoulder lightly, evidently embarrassed.

“We can probably manage that,” Bruce said, having noted that Speedy was great with projectile weapons.

“And...he needs light armor. Cause he’s kinda fast, but almost no armor isn’t gonna work,” Dick continued, sounding almost like someone bargaining with a somewhat hostile force. Like he had to get whatever he could to protect Roy out of Bruce.

“Dick, I’ll do my best to outfit Roy to his best advantages,” Bruce put in gently, “I’m not going to shortchange him.”

Dick nodded, seeming almost embarrassed at having doubted Bruce.

It unsettled him. He didn’t want to send in the children to fight. But he wasn’t sure what else to do if they felt this strongly about it. If it sent them into such a funk.

And he would have to figure out what in their programming or what have you stopped them from being able to tell him things. That was the most chilling part, that they could be censored. And he wondered if Dick was unique in being less censored.

At the moment, though, his thought was to calm them. So he said, “There’s a Doll catalog online. Perhaps you could help me look through for what’d be best?”

He couldn’t afford _everything_ in the catalog, but he figured it would relieve them of the fears they had.

And it did, as the boys pointed out things and debated the merits of each, figuring out what would best fit Roy and be most useful.

Bruce only wished it was something else bringing them this much joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed it!
> 
> I know this is one people've been interested in me updating, so I've been glad to be able to finish a chapter. 
> 
> :)

**Author's Note:**

> ...this is probably going to turn into a 'by what measure is someone human?' kinda story, but eh. Hope you enjoy the ride. :)


End file.
